


Bonds

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Restraint [4]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Age Difference, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, M/M, Panic, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Rope Bondage, Sexual Experimentation, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4250796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dino laughs, a spill of sound involuntary and warm on his lips. 'I’m trusting myself to you.'" Dino and Hibari indulge in careful experimentation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Theory

“Come on, Kyoya.” Dino takes his time with the plea, lets it slide long and drawling on his tongue. “Show me.”

“No,” Hibari says without pausing to think, without even turning around. Dino can’t even see the lines of his over-youthful features in profile; there’s just the dark of his hair, the blinding white of his shirt taut against his shoulders. “I have no reason to.”

“I’m your  _tutor_ ,” Dino protests, as if that’s ever carried any weight at all with the other. “I need to know what sort of weapons you have at your disposal.”

“I’m more than capable of handling my own weapons,” Hibari says to the wall. “You’re unlikely to be of any more help instructing me in this than in anything else.” There’s a shift of hair, a glimpse of pale skin; for a moment he’s glancing back over his shoulder, the shadow of his eyelashes turning into a suggestion that warms Dino’s blood with possibilities even before he continues. “Unless it’s a fight you’re looking for.”

Dino heaves a sigh, shakes his head. “Training for the day is over,” he insists, twisting sideways on the bed so he’s on his bare stomach instead of sprawled on his back. He’s still watching Hibari, gauging the attention in the smoky gaze fixed on him. “I’d rather do something more fun than fighting.”

Hibari’s laugh is more of a scoff than anything, a burst of judgment given voice in his throat as he turns his head away. There’s a swing of hair, a moment’s respite from his attention -- and Dino’s moving, a sudden burst of movement in the instant Hibari’s back is turned. On his stomach he can reach the handle of the whip dropped next to the bed alongside his jacket and shirt, can twist onto his back and bring the familiar weight up to crack through the air in an audible warning that will be too late to give Hibari any chance to react.

Except that Hibari is already reacting. When Dino looks back up from his momentary pause to grab the whip Hibari’s halfway over the distance between the bed and the window, lunging forward in a surge of violet that sends Dino recoiling back with an instinct that doesn’t remember the proximity of the headboard behind him. The back of his head smacks against the weight of the surface, his vision jolts and blurs, and as he’s lifting his hand to check for blood something cold and heavy slots itself around his wrist.

Dino doesn’t intend to jerk at the weight. It’s instinctive, the motion drawn by the adrenaline coursing through his veins in response to the too-fast movements of Hibari, the knee digging in against his ribs and the hands dangerously close to his throat. So he pulls, hard and fast in an attempt to regain the use of his hand, and there’s the sound of metal catching on itself, his motion stalled mere inches from the headboard. He looks up, then, confusion winning out over the self-preservation that says  _never look away from Kyoya in a fight_ , and it’s then that he sees the black of the cuff closed on his wrist.

“What?” Dino blurts, startled right out of his fight response into confusion. He pulls again, a little more carefully this time, sees the way the chain pulls taut to hold his hand close to the bedframe. The metal chafes his wrist, drags uncomfortably against the skin, but Dino’s not thinking about that; he’s grinning instead, adrenaline turning itself into amusement in his blood. “Where did you get this? This isn’t--”

Then he sees the color, the suggestion of violet flames flickering in the gaps in the chain links, and understanding flashes into his mind in a burst of realization like it sometimes does, intuition overstepping reason to offer him the answer.

“ _This_  is your Vongola Box?” The cuff is sturdy, seamless once it’s locked; Dino suspects the bed would give way before the unseen clasp, the bones of his wrist before either. “Your weapon is  _handcuffs_?”

“Do you doubt their efficacy?” Hibari warns. He’s balanced over Dino’s hips, one leg high between the other’s knees; it would be a threat even were Dino’s movements not severely limited by the cold metal closed around his wrist.

“No,” he says, quickly, in case prolonged silence suggests a question to Hibari’s ears. “Not at all. It just seems ironic.” Hibari stares at him, no suggestion of humor in his expression, and Dino clears his throat, tries on the warmth of a smile. “You know. Since you hate being restrained and all that.”

“I do not notice any restraint on  _me_ ,” Hibari says, leaning back so his features fall back into illumination again. He looks inhuman with the clean line of his nose cast into relief by the shadows, with the high arch of his cheekbones brightened by the contrast. Even after a decade, it takes Dino’s breath, as Hibari has always been able to take his breath away.

“Good point,” he admits, his voice demonstrating only a fraction of the heat in his veins. He wants to look, he wants to touch, wants to have and want at the same time; it all falls into line with the resistance when he tries to reach out for the sharp edge of Hibari’s hips, the way the handcuff pinches to hold his arm twisted up above his head instead of against the crisp white of Hibari’s shirt. Dino huffs near-frustration at the restriction but Hibari doesn’t react, doesn’t seem to even notice; he just watches Dino, his eyes dark and unfathomable like a god considering the pleas of a mere mortal. He’s not moving either to close or to widen the distance between them; Dino has the sudden sharp thought that he’s still making up his mind, that he might be sincerely considering leaving Dino where he is, trapped by the restraint on his wrist until Hibari decides to take pity on him and free him.

The thought goes through Dino like liquid fire. He can feel his eyes blow dark and wide, his mouth fall open as his breathing goes suddenly to steam in his chest; when he drags at the cuff it’s a steady tug, not the initial desperate jerk, and when he moves it’s to arch his hips up to make a suggestion of the empty space above him.

“Kyoya,” he purrs, dropping the syllables into the lowest, hottest register he can find. “Want to have some fun?”

Hibari’s chin comes up, his eyes narrowing into what would be suspicion in someone else and is only ever judgment in him. “ _What_?” His tone is lined with offense, taut with skepticism like he can’t quite believe what Dino is asking of him.

“Cuff me to the bed,” Dino says, just to make it perfectly clear. He unwinds his fingers from Hibari’s waist -- not without some sense of loss -- and reaches up instead, wraps his fingers around the headboard. “Chain my hands up so I can’t touch you and then you can do whatever you want to me.”

Hibari’s chin is still up. “I can already do whatever I want to you.”

“Of course you can,” Dino admits without any attempt at holding onto his pride. It’s not like he can make a secret of his affection, after all, and that trumps any attempt at resistance he might make to Hibari’s desires. “Do this for me.”

There’s another pause, a long breathless moment of consideration. There’s a prickle of chill down Dino’s spine, the hesitation going far longer than he expected; the possibility that Hibari might  _refuse_  him starts to form itself out of the silence, fits itself into the quiet between Dino’s breaths, and when Hibari shifts his weight back Dino deems it necessary to offer more persuasion.

“Please,” he says, fast and quick and warm with all the years he’s had with Hibari, all the history he is now remembering for the both of them. “Please, Kyoya.”

Hibari rocks back farther, leaning until it’s his heels bearing most of his weight rather than Dino’s hips. There’s a flutter of eyelashes -- surprise, Dino thinks, or capitulation, he hopes. There’s enough space for a heartbeat, a sharp inhale of breath between them; then Hibari is leaning back in, casting Dino into his shadow, and Dino relaxes against the bed with relief as the narrow strength of Hibari’s fingers closes at his free wrist.

“Remember you asked for it,” Hibari says as his hands move in Dino’s periphery, purple-cast black clicking into place against his wrist. He doesn’t tug at the cuff at all, lets his grip on the headboard linger while he listens to the click and grind on metal slotting against itself, the click of the mechanism locking his hand to the bed to match the first. Then Hibari is pulling away again, sliding down Dino’s legs in one elegant motion; Dino tries to sit up without thinking, angling for a better view of the dark head bowed over him, but the cuffs jar against the bed and pull him back to the mattress when he tries to move. Hibari glances up at him -- there’s a twist at his mouth, amusement the more threatening for Dino’s current position -- then looks away once more, turning his attention to the graceful slide of his fingers across Dino’s jeans. Dino’s breath hitches, catching in his chest to match the involuntary arc of his hips coming up to meet Hibari’s touch, but Hibari doesn’t look back at him. He shifts his weight up to Dino’s thighs instead, uses the movement to pin the other still, and then he’s tugging Dino’s belt free of its buckle, unfastening button and zipper with the efficiency born of complete focus. Dino can barely make out what he’s doing, can’t see his features at all, but the tension of his clothes is giving way with uncanny speed, and then Hibari is sliding away and off the end of the bed, hooking his fingers over the waistband of Dino’s jeans and boxers and drawing them both down at once.

Dino can’t breathe properly. Hibari often has that effect on him, even when Dino’s hands are free to wander as he likes and as Hibari allows, but the desire is made sharp by his restraint, the ache to touch brought up short by the cold grasp of the metal on his wrists. He jerks against them without meaning to when Hibari steps away from the bed, whimpering an incoherent plea of desire as the other starts to work down the front of his shirt, but Hibari doesn’t look up, doesn’t make any sign that he’s heard Dino’s struggles at all. The chains on the cuffs are too short for Dino to twist over, make getting some kind of friction against the sheets impossible; all he can do is stare, watch the moonlight-pale of Hibari skin come into view from the loosening edges of his shirt while his own cock goes harder with every breath he takes.

Hibari’s methodical about undressing. Dino has seen him move quickly when he needs to, when he  _wants_  to, stripping himself of his clothes in a matter of seconds if only to deprive Dino of the pleasure of doing it himself. Even when he peels Dino’s own clothing off he does it efficiently, almost businesslike in the deliberate focus he brings to bear. But he’s going slowly now, Dino’s sure of it, turning the process of easing a button loose into a dance, until every sigh of fabric slipping against itself frays Dino’s nerves the tighter. Hibari doesn’t look at Dino when he shrugs his shirt off to crumple to the floor; there’s just Dino’s sigh of melting-hot want to match the rustle of movement, the arch of Hibari’s shoulders as he ducks his head to work his pants open. It  _is_  a dance, something formed of drifting fabric and the music of Dino’s desperate inhales, until Dino’s thoughts are going as hazy as if he were drugged, as if the slick of light off Hibari’s skin were enough to dizzy his balance and slur his speech.

“Kyoya,” he says, whimpering the vowels in his throat as the other turns back -- finally, finally -- all pale legs and elegant shoulders. He moves easily, as unselfconscious in just pale skin as when he’s wrapped in his school uniform, and Dino twists his head, strains to see past his upraised arm so he can watch Hibari move across the room to the heap Dino made of his clothes the night before, to sort through the mess until he finds what he’s looking for.

“You are a disgrace,” Hibari announces as he gets to his feet again, steps back over the discarded clothing to return to the bed. His knees brace wide, the bottle opens to his touch, and Dino wasn’t counting on this, wasn’t ready to watch this without the warmth of Hibari’s skin under his hands. His exhale spills into a gasp, his wrists drag against their metal bonds, and Hibari looks at him, raises an elegant brow as he reaches between his legs with slick shine on his fingers.

“Kyoya,” Dino blurts. He sounds broken, he knows, sounds shattered and young and plaintive and he can’t stop, can’t call back enough self-control to compose himself. “I want to touch you.”

Hibari tips his hips forward, shuts his eyes for a moment; Dino can imagine the friction as he slides a finger into himself, can see proof of the stretch in the momentary softness at Hibari’s mouth. Then he blinks his gaze back into focus, lets out an almost-inaudible breath, and by the time he speaks his voice is wholly level in spite of the slow rhythm he’s setting with his hand.

“Do you want me to open the handcuffs?”

It’s a straightforward question. Reasonable, even; Dino can see the logic behind it, the mercy of Hibari acceding to his desperate statement. He even contemplates it for a moment, drags hard against the metal as he thinks about the rhythm of breath in Hibari’s chest, the line of hipbone sharp enough to cut the calluses of his palms, the sun-heat of skin against his grip.

And then he shakes his head, gasps a breath of heat that burns along his spine and spills expectation at the head of his cock. “No, leave them.”

Hibari’s forehead creases, his mouth tightening around the shape of a frown. It’s a strange expression to see, a hint of uncertainty on a face Dino has only ever known to be self-assured. He looks like he wants to ask, like a question is forming itself against his tongue; but then he ducks his head instead, curtains his features behind dark hair, and when he moves it’s to shift his hand instead of to speak. The movement draws Dino’s gaze, locks his attention onto the steady rhythm of Hibari’s hand and the flush darkening along his length; he doesn’t mean to part his lips in unconscious desire, doesn’t even realize he’s whining aloud until Hibari lifts his head to fix him with a dark-eyed stare.

“Be quiet,” he says, and he’s moving again, sliding his hand free and moving closer to fit his legs around Dino’s waist, to rock back over Dino’s hips. Warm skin catches against Dino’s cock, drags another groan from his throat and a jerky attempt at movement from his hips. “You wanted to stay restrained.”

Dino takes in a lungful of air, lets his sustained drag at the cuffs go slack. “Yeah.” He’s still hot, he’s radiant, he can barely stand the heat burning under his skin and yet Hibari is hotter still, scorching him at every point they touch. Hibari braces a hand at the sheets, straightens his spine into a smooth arch, and Dino knows what’s coming, can hardly breathe for anticipation. “I did.”

Hibari looks down at him. His skin is pale, his hair is dark, his eyes are endless. Dino wants to kiss him, wants to touch him, wants to pull him down to the bed and capture that lean elegance between himself and the sheets. The inability to move is friction in his veins, the tension of an itch he can’t scratch, so sharp and crystalline it borders on pleasant; all he can do is gasp for breath, fill his lungs with oxygen and wait on Hibari’s word, on Hibari’s movement, on Hibari’s control.

Hibari doesn’t wait. There’s barely a pause, hardly a breath of his gaze considering Dino under him; then he moves, the action graceful with certainty, and Dino’s thoughts spark into disconnect as Hibari slides down around him. The friction is familiar, the heat spreading warm satisfaction into his veins to melt away the tension of anticipation.

“Ah,” he sighs, a long heavy note in his throat. “ _Kyoya_.”

Hibari doesn’t answer. His head is tipped down again; all Dino can see of his features is his mouth, parted on his breathing so it comes out silent instead of gasping. He slides himself all the way down on the first stroke, pausing for a moment as if to let Dino have a moment to collect himself or to give himself a chance to adjust; then he braces his arm, leans his weight forward, and starts to move into a rhythm, a pattern so familiar Dino is breathing faster even before the friction has started to coalesce into promise along his spine.

Neither of them speak, at first. The room is silent but for the sound of their breathing, the shift of the mattress; Dino can hear the faint slick of skin-on-skin, if he listens for it, the sound enough to tighten his throat into a groan and rock his hips up to meet Hibari’s movements. He’s expecting a glare for his trouble, a snapped-off command to  _hold still_ , but it doesn’t come; Hibari looks up at him, but there’s no irritation in his eyes, just that odd darkness and a softness at his mouth Dino would pursue, were his thoughts not so hazy. But they are, and he doesn’t; he surrenders to the heat instead, the involuntary drag of his hands against the cuffs and the rocking tilt of his hips up to meet the slick-wet heat of Hibari’s body, and the electricity is starting to build, forming itself into expectation in the foggy pleasure in his mind, when Hibari speaks.

“Why do you want the handcuffs?” He sounds sincerely lost and faintly frustrated, like he’s been reaching for understanding all this time and is irritated at admitting he can’t reach it. “Wouldn’t you rather be free?”

Dino blinks, tries to force his eyes into focus through sheer willpower. Hibari is still watching him, a tiny crease between his eyebrows and his mouth tight with focus. If it weren’t for the pale flush rising along his cheeks Dino would have no way of guessing what he’s doing, no way of knowing that his cock is flushed so hard it’s spilling pre-come against Dino’s stomach.

He takes a breath, struggles for coherency. There’s a seriousness in Hibari’s tone, attention at his forehead, and even under the circumstances he wants to give a sincere response rather than a flippant one.

“It’s fun,” he says finally, turning his wrist just to feel the metal bite at his skin. “It’s exciting. You can do whatever you want to me like this and I can’t stop you.”

“I can do whatever I want to you anyway,” Hibari points out, punctuating with a too-fast slide of his hips that leaves Dino gasping air and arching up as if he can possibly stand more heat than is already coursing through his veins.

“Yeah,” he manages once he’s freed his breathing from the tension of anticipation, once the edge of pleasure has receded enough that he can think again. “But this way I  _know_  you can.” He laughs, a spill of sound involuntary and warm on his lips. “I’m trusting myself to you.”

The crease in Hibari’s forehead deepens, his mouth twisting hard into a frown. He looks almost upset, like there’s something unfathomable or perhaps painful in what Dino is saying, but he doesn’t speak, just keeps staring at the other like he’s trying to see straight through him.

“Kyoya?” Dino tries after a moment, when the other has shown no signs of either slowing his rhythm or speaking again.

Hibari blinks. His forehead smooths, his mouth eases, and Dino can’t tell if it’s a facade or just a shift in his attention causing the change.

“Be quiet,” he says, and then he leans in before Dino can disobey the order, catching his mouth hot and soft against Dino’s. Dino groans, the sound purring up along the inside of his ribs, and Hibari’s fingers drag across his stomach before closing on the other’s length and starting to stroke in time with the pace of his hips. His knuckles are skidding across Dino’s stomach, their bodies too close to allow even for the space for Hibari’s hand to move freely, and then Hibari’s teeth catch at Dino’s lower lip and heat crests and breaks over Dino. The shudder of pleasure ripples all down his spine, from the taut drag of his wrists against Hibari’s handcuffs all down to tremble out in his thigh and curl the arches of his feet, and Hibari doesn’t pull away, just hisses an inhale like he’s trying to steal Dino’s labored breathing from him. Dino’s going lightheaded, his attention spinning away into haze and heat and  _Kyoya_ , those fingers dragging against his stomach and the friction of the other’s movement dragging the last shocks of satisfaction jerking through him, and then Hibari sighs so low it’s nearly a groan and comes sticky-hot against Dino’s chest.

For a few long moments neither of them move or speak. Hibari presses his face in against Dino’s shoulder, breathes in the deliberately slow pace he always adopts, like he’s trying to hide the tell of his pleasure-shaky breathing from Dino, and Dino breathes in Hibari, tips his head and shuts his eyes so he can inhale against the ever-startling soft of the other’s dark hair, can let his lips catch almost-a-kiss against his skin. The silence stretches, the stillness lengthens -- and then Hibari moves, unfolds himself from Dino’s shoulder and sits up, arching his back and rolling his shoulders like he’s fitting himself back into composure. He reaches out for the handcuffs, does something too swiftly for Dino to see, and they fall loose, first one and then the other, freeing Dino’s red-chafed wrists to fall to the bed.

He doesn’t move right away. Hibari is still straddling him, the pale of his skin still flushed with unusual heat; Dino can’t read his eyes except for the attention in them, the dark-shadowed beauty that always seizes into the pressure of wanting around his heart. He just stares, hands free but unmoving, still resting against the sheets over his head.

Then Hibari tips his chin up, and raises an eyebrow, and says, “You can touch me if you’d like,” in something halfway to permission and halfway to a taunt.

Dino takes a breath, and laughs an exhale, and reaches out to pull Hibari’s mouth back again his own.


	2. Application

Uncertainty is a strange emotion for Hibari. He doesn’t like the uncomfortable tingle of nerves under his skin, the sense of helpless panic that comes with unfamiliar interactions; he has spent all his life building defenses against precisely this. Far better to know what he’s doing, to know where he belongs, to know he is safe and secure in his abilities than to allow any sort of discomfort to linger.

He’s not quite sure what to do with it, now. He can feel the adrenaline pricking through his veins, urging him into a fight that he doesn’t actually want, for the first time he can remember; his hands are steady but his thoughts are dizzy, lunging forward towards the inevitable conclusion before skittering backwards, attempting a retreat too cowardly to consider. This was a certainty the moment he asked for it, the moment he offered his suggestion in the form of an order; Dino will not disobey him, he knows, and he will not allow himself to admit defeat to something as inconsequential as his own unavoidable panic.

“Kyoya?”

Dino’s voice is warm, soft on the vowels of Hibari’s name like he’s licking sugar off them before setting them free. Hibari can pick out the lilt of almost-an-accent under the consonants, if he listens for it, but Dino stopped sounding foreign a long time ago and now just sounds like himself to Hibari’s experienced ear. He’s worried, now, Hibari can hear the concern dampening his usual glowing warmth into something more reserved, a little restrained, careful like Hibari is on the verge of an explosion.

“What?” Hibari asks, looking up to meet the soft worry in Dino’s dark eyes. They are always startlingly rich, like bitter chocolate or fresh-brewed coffee, enough to tighten Hibari’s throat and catch his tongue into incoherence if he were the sort of person to let himself give in to those reactions. But he is not, and so his voice is level, his gaze steady, and he’s certain without needing the aid of a mirror that the frisson of adrenaline thudding through his veins is entirely invisible to even Dino’s too-knowing eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Dino asks, as if Hibari hasn’t made up his mind, as if they’re not well past the point of retreat. “You don’t need to do this just for me.”

“For  _you_?” Hibari says, a little faster than he intends. It’s the surprise that does it, the shock that Dino might consider this all to be some sort of overelaborate attempt to seduce him. As if Hibari has ever needed seduction to hold Dino’s attention. “It is  _not_  for you.”

“But you hate being held down,” Dino goes on, sounding helpless as Hibari knows he isn’t, or at least isn’t usually. It’s his lack of understanding, Hibari thinks, Dino as off-balance from a gap in his intuitive understanding as Hibari is by the sensation of panic. “I don’t understand how this is different.”

“It is different,” Hibari says, as level and certain as if Dino isn’t putting words to his own overfast breathing, as if the concern isn’t enough to flood him with another trembling rush of what he refuses to call fright. “I can find someone else to assist me if you aren’t up to the task.”

“ _Kyoya_ ,” Dino protests, distracted by the empty threat from his too-close questions. “You wouldn’t.” Hibari doesn’t answer aloud, doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow; he just stares, holds Dino’s gaze until the other’s forehead creases into concern.

“I can do it,” he says finally, surrendering as he always inevitably does. “I’d  _like_  to do it. I just don’t want you making yourself uncomfortable for my sake.”

“It is not for your sake,” Hibari says again, biting off the last words to make a statement without the possibility of further response. “Are you ready or are you going to waste more of my time in conversation?”

Dino doesn’t rise to the bait. That concerned softness at his mouth lingers, threatens more speech, but Hibari doesn’t look away, doesn’t let himself so much as blink, and after a moment Dino sighs in defeat and moves towards the bag in the corner. Hibari reaches for the buttons on his shirt as soon as Dino has turned -- he’s thought through the logic of this, if not wholly processed the emotional scope -- and by the time the other has turned back around Hibari’s shrugging the fabric off his shoulders so he can drape it carefully over the back of a chair, out of range of even Dino’s astonishing clumsiness.

“Oh,” Dino breathes, his eyes slipping from Hibari’s face down to drag across bare skin instead. Hibari can feel himself flushing hotter, heat rising in the wake of Dino’s stare as if he’s being touched, but he doesn’t hunch in over himself, doesn’t let self-consciousness touch his voice. There’s no need to -- Dino’s seen him like this before, it’s hardly their first time even if the other never fails to go stunned and breathless as if it is.

“Come on,” Hibari orders, pivots on his heels while Dino is still collecting himself and leads the way to the bed. The sheets are neat, tucked into clean lines as if they’ve been pressed into place; the weight of Hibari’s knee against them is enough to drag them out of line, well before he’s turned over to stretch out across the soft of the mattress. The blanket is silky against his bare shoulders, the texture familiar and comforting as he reaches up above his head to wrap his fingers against the supports of the headboard. The position is odd; it feels strange to have so much of his chest exposed, to have his hands occupied with something too textured and too warm to be the usual cool metal of his tonfas, but his memory offers an older Dino breathless and flushed hot with want doing the same, and with no other source for information Hibari deems it best to imitate what he knows.

“Okay,” Dino says from the end of the bed. Hibari tips his chin down to consider him; he’s standing still, wide-eyed and with his lips parted on his breathing. He swallows hard at Hibari watches, shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “Okay. Yeah, good.”

There’s something very nearly charming about Dino, Hibari considers with his mouth shut and his expression composed. He’s not sure what it is -- maybe the soft dark of his eyes, or the way his voice sometimes skips high on nerves or enthusiasm or both. Even his clumsiness is endearing, Hibari thinks sometimes, when pleasure has knocked him loose-limbed and languid and past the point of caring about Dino’s ability to defend himself absent his subordinates. Right now, with his eyes blown wide with hope and desire in equal parts and his hair ruffled into sun-gold curls around his face, Hibari can feel affection like pressure in his chest, weighting him down and keeping him still when his adrenaline is urging him into action. He stays where he is, lets Dino kneel at the edge of the bed, lets the other lean over to cast him into shadow; even the first flicker of panic at the other’s presence over him is fought back, held behind the steady line of his mouth and the focused attention of his eyes. As long as his expression stays clear Dino doesn’t need to know how hard his heart is pounding, doesn’t need to know that every muscle in his body is twisting tight with the desire to  _move_ , to escape, to force his way free of the threat of restraint.

The rope is softer than he expected. Dino is gentle with it, Hibari suspects gentler than he needs to be, lets the weight slide across Hibari’s tense wrist a moment before he loops it around. There’s the brush of a thumb against Hibari’s arm, friction dragging across his skin, but he’s okay, he’s fine, if he keeps his eyes open he can stare at gold hair instead of dark, brown eyes instead of blue and hell-marked red.

Then Dino tugs the loop of rope tight, and something in Hibari breaks.

There is no chance for rationality. The adrenaline that takes over him is something raw, too instinctive for anything like conscious thought to play a role. He snatches his hand away from Dino’s too-gentle hold, hisses “ _Get off me_ ” and twists sideways at the same time his knee comes up with enough force that the rational part of his mind, the part currently relegated to passive observer, flinches in anticipatory sympathy. It’s a testament to Dino’s reflexes or more likely to his Sky intuition that he throws himself sideways quickly enough that Hibari’s knee hits his thigh instead of far more sensitive targets, a demonstration of past experience that he drops the rope immediately and brings his hands palm-up in demonstration of his passivity.

“Okay, okay,” he says, fast and rushed even as the reassurance goes taut around pain from Hibari’s reflexive retaliation. “Sorry, it’s okay.” Hibari is sitting up, his wrist aching raw from the too-sharp jerk that pulled him free of the rope; he doesn’t look down at the friction burn he knows is there, doesn’t reach to rub his fingers against the hurt. He blinks instead, forces his hands out of the shape of fists, until by the time Dino is offering “Hey, it’s okay, it’s me, you’re fine” the soothing comfort is no longer necessary. When Hibari looks down Dino’s staring at him, his eyes free of judgment but wide with almost-panic, what would be fear in a lesser man, someone less suited to Hibari’s own tastes.

Hibari takes a long breath. He can feel the motion all through his chest, his lungs expanding out of the tension of adrenaline as he forces himself back into calm. “Apologies,” he says finally, looking away from the too-close consideration in Dino’s eyes. He’s not certain he wants Dino to see what’s in his own. “Did I hurt you?”

Dino’s laugh is easy, sincere in spite of the tension in the air. When he sits up the movement is graceful, absent any of the residual fear someone not-Hibari might expect from someone not-Dino. “No worse than you’ve given me before,” he says, angling his knee out and only barely flinching at the stretch. Hibari watches the arc of his leg, the unconscious elegance of the motion, keeps watching as Dino goes still, clears his throat, takes a breath to frame his question.

“Again,” Hibari says just before Dino speaks. When he looks up Dino’s mouth is open on the words he didn’t say, his forehead creased into frustration at being interrupted. Hibari holds his gaze, offers his rope-bruised wrist. “Try it again.”

Dino frowns. The tension in his forehead goes softer, frames itself into something closer to concern than irritation. “Kyoya…are you sure?”

Hibari doesn’t speak. He just holds his attention on Dino’s face, stares him down in silence until Dino sighs resignation and reaches for the rope again.

Hibari holds his wrist out, this time. It seems safer, offers more comfort for his still-tense shoulders to be upright instead of lying down, to have the clear freedom of sideways escape instead of the relative vulnerability of lying prone. Dino doesn’t ask again; he just looks at Hibari, a long considering stare before he bows the gold of his head to turn his attention to winding the rope back around Hibari’s bruised wrist.

Hibari watches him. It’s a little easier when he can see the rope looping against his skin, when he can expect the tension and the weight before it catches into place. He can breathe past the pressure on his chest, can push back the reflexive panic in his throat, and for a minute he thinks he’ll be okay, that he will be able to triumph over his body in this as in everything else.

Then Dino starts to loop the rope in over itself, and Hibari can feel every muscle in his arm seize cramp-tight with the need to snatch his hand back.

” _Stop_ ,” he grates, and Dino stops, his hands stilling on the loose end of the rope. Hibari reaches over, hooks his thumb inside the open loop to he can drag it open again; it’s only then that he can breathe again, gasp a sucking inhale into his too-tight chest, and it’s such a relief he doesn’t even grimace at the tell for true panic.

They’re both still for a moment. Hibari can feel Dino’s eyes on him; he doesn’t look up, keeps staring at the pale fibers of the rope laid over his skin. It’s a frail thing, really, the weight barely enough to feel; it seems absurd, almost laughable, to have his desires defeated by something so small.

Then Dino clears his throat, and reaches out to cup Hibari’s wrapped wrist in the open palm of his other hand. His fingers don’t tighten, offer not so much as a breath of restraint; it’s just steadying, warm contact against bare skin, and then he’s pressing the end of the rope into Hibari’s palm.

“Here.” He shifts his hand, presses gently to urge Hibari’s hand shut; Hibari tightens his fingers, curls them in against his palm. The rope fits inside his fist, presses friction into the inside of his fingers. “Is that okay?”

Hibari reaches for the other end of the rope with his free hand. He stares at his closed fist when he tugs on it to draw the friction at his wrist tight, keeps watching the tension in his fingers as a reminder that he can let go and release the pressure at a moment’s will. There’s a shiver along his spine, the ghost of tension flickering out into his blood, but it evaporates as soon as it forms, adrenaline unable to hold its form in his body.

“Yes,” he says, decisive and clear. “This will work.”

Dino clears his throat. Hibari does look up, then; Dino is watching him, tipped back over his heels like he’s deliberately giving Hibari as much space as he can manage without getting off the bed. It might even be deliberate; it’s never a good idea to underestimate Dino Cavallone. “Do you want to use the bedframe too?”

“Of course,” Hibari says, infused the words with as much haughty certainty as he can manage while fear he refuses to acknowledge courses along his spine. He lies back over the bed, tips his head up so he can see what he’s doing; by the time Dino has steadied his balance and moved to lean back in Hibari’s tugged the long end of the rope around the frame, has smoothed his expression into complete calm to meet the question still clinging to Dino’s eyes.

The worry never makes it to words. Dino is responsive enough to the suggestion in the offered rope, or maybe obedient enough to Hibari’s unspoken command for quiet, that he takes the end and starts looping it around the other’s unbruised wrist without speaking at all. Hibari’s chest tightens again, his breathing threatening a stutter, but he keeps his eyes open and locked on gold hair, and by the time Dino is pressing the loose end of the rope against his palm he’s still himself, still operating on rationality instead of reflex.

“Okay,” Dino says as he leans back, moving towards the end of the bed where it’s harder for Hibari to see him.  _His_  voice is shaking, Hibari can hear the thrum of adrenaline; he’s not sure what the cause is, arousal or nerves or both, doesn’t enormously care since Dino is sliding back and reaching for the buckle of his belt. “I’m going to undress.”

“I don’t need narration,” Hibari says, pleased that his voice holds level in his throat. His heart is pounding loud in his ears; he’s sure it must be visible in the pulse at his throat, a flutter of movement to speak to his adrenaline, but Dino is looking at what his hands are doing and is too far away to see anyway. “Having my wrists tied isn’t going to make me into a blushing virgin.”

Dino laughs at that. It sounds warm, sincere with amusement; when he looks up to catch Hibari’s eyes his gaze is soft, melting chocolate-sweet in his expression. “I don’t believe you were ever a blushing virgin, Kyoya.”

Amusement spills into Hibari’s blood, the threat of laughter unravelling some of the pressure at his chest. He doesn’t let it spill free -- he has more self-control than that -- but he can feel his mouth quirk, twist into a sharp angle of silent accord.

“Are you planning to leave me half-dressed?” he asks instead of admitting the accuracy of Dino’s statement. He presses his shoulders against the mattress, pulls against the ropes around his wrists to brace himself so he can arch his hips up off the sheets; it’s a strain against his arms, an almost-uncomfortable arch to his back, but it’s worth it for the way Dino’s gaze drops to the front of his pants, the way the other’s hands and mouth both fall slack with distraction. Hibari grins in truth, then, entertained by this theft of Dino’s composure, keeps his head tipped down so he can watch Dino fumble his way out of the rest of his clothes with clumsy haste.

“God, Kyoya,” Dino offers as he kicks his feet free, leans in to kneel against the edge of the bed. “You’re so  _beautiful_.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it. Hibari has long since lost count of the number of times Dino has felt it necessary to repeat this phrase, always in the vaguely awestruck tone that seems to say he can’t manage any further coherency. Usually it’s meaningless, white noise that Hibari can safely ignore, but with the tension currently coursing through him and threatening visible tremors against his skin it carries strange comfort, the reassurance of normalcy as Dino’s fingers tug at the buckle of his belt. There’s a catch of tension, the waistband pulling tight for a moment while the metal opens its grip on the leather; then Dino’s dragging at Hibari’s button, his zipper, unfastening his clothing with a breathless haste that seems to suggest Hibari’s skin is something precious and perfect to be uncovered as if it is a work of art.

Hibari doesn’t care what Dino thinks of his skin, as long as he’s fast about it. Adrenaline is turning to anxiety, teetering on the line between panic and impatience, until his skin feels electrified with anticipation, every glancing touch of Dino’s fingers jolting through his blood to ground out at his spine. He’s starting to tense, resistance to the threat of tremors locking his knees out and arching his back against the mattress, the adrenaline-nerves-anticipation fluttering through him until it all feels like heat, burning through him so he’s half-hard before Dino has even stripped his pants off him.

“Jesus,” Dino breathes as he gets the fabric down, his hold offering enough resistance for Hibari to slide his foot free and kick the rest of it off. The sheets are cool against the flush of his skin. “Are--do you want me to…?”

“Do I need to give you instruction?” Hibari asks, reaching and finding a shred of taunting composure amidst the heat flaring out into his blood and aching under the rope at his wrist. “Or are you my tutor in name only after all?”

He knows how Dino will react. It’s as predictable at sunrise, as satisfying as victory, to see the way his wide-open nerves collapse into dark-eyed determination at this threat to his role.

“You shouldn’t tease, Kyoya,” he purrs, his tone dipping into the low rumble of the predator Hibari knows him to be when he forgets to pretend otherwise. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“So show me,” Hibari says, lets his knee tip wide in what might look like accident in someone else. Dino’s eyes drop, follow the line of his thigh with as much heat as if his gaze were a touch, and if the burn flushes Hibari’s cock responsively harder he doesn’t let the reaction show on his face.

Dino touches, first. His fingers land at Hibari’s knee, push up over pale skin, and Hibari has to cling to composure as hard as he’s holding the rope in his hands, has to fight to maintain the appearance of calm if not the sensation in truth. The friction burns, skates up his leg and out across his hip, dragging fire over the flat of his stomach; then Dino leans sideways, the movement of his fingers stalling into a pause while he reaches for the bottle he needs, and Hibari shuts his eyes and takes a moment to level off the tension collecting in his throat. It’s terrifying to have someone’s hands on him like this, knowing even if he lets his hold on the rope at his hands go that it will take him a moment to twist himself free, but there’s something overhot and languid in it too, to have nothing to do but sprawl across the bed and let Dino’s touch pour fire into him. The contact at his skin hesitates, draws away for a moment; then Dino shifts, pushes at Hibari’s knee to urge his legs wider, and Hibari opens his eyes so he can look down at the other’s bowed head.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Dino says without looking up. He sounds more like his usual self, some of his smokey seduction bled off in the few moments of slicking his fingers, but his hands are steady, his fingers offering a gentle brace high at the inside of Hibari’s thigh.

“You won’t hurt me,” Hibari says, overquick so it sounds like arrogance instead of the truth it is, and Dino glances up at him, catches his gaze as his mouth turns into a smirk.

“I hope not,” he purrs. There’s pressure, the slide of a slick finger against hot skin, and Hibari lets his breath go, forces his body into heat-heavy relaxation against the sheets. “I’m aiming for the opposite.”

“So move,” Hibari suggests, the words snapping into the shape of a command on his tongue.

Dino laughs, amusement blurring his eyes soft and warm, and then he pushes, and his finger sinks in to the knuckle. It’s a different sensation than what Hibari is used to -- the angle is different from someone else’s hand, the friction dragging inside him without any of the warning granted by his own intention. His relaxation evaporates, reaction flexing against the inside of his thighs and arching taut in his back, and for a moment he’s not seeing Dino at all, isn’t even seeing the ceiling he’s tipping his head back towards. His body is flaring hot, his chest compressing against the tension, and he’s not sure for a moment if it’s pleasure or panic he’s feeling.

Then “Kyoya?” sounding a little worried, like it’s maybe not the first time his name has been spoken. “Kyoya, are you alright?” and the touch becomes Dino, familiar and warm and only ever a threat when he’s trying to be. Friction turns to heat, turns to the promise of more, and Hibari’s body relaxes, lets go of past-tense fright as he blinks himself back into the present.

“I’m fine,” he says, lets a breath go as if to offer proof of his statement. “Is that all?”

Dino’s laugh is a comfort, the sound of his amusement all at odds with the shadows of memory that threaten Hibari’s thoughts. “No,” he says, and he pushes in deeper, a slide of pressure slow enough to give Hibari time to relax against it. The sensation is odd, as it always is, stretches in a way that feels vaguely unsettling, but there’s a promise of satisfaction there too, experience offering anticipation of the pleasure to come.

Dino’s breathing harder, Hibari realizes, fighting for air with enough force that he can hear the catch of the other’s inhales. When he looks away from the ceiling and down Dino is staring at him, eyes wide and endlessly dark as if the sight is eclipsing their color.

“Fuck,” he says, draws his hand back to press in again with that same slow thrust. “You’re...god, you’re breathtaking, Kyoya.”

“Harder,” Hibari says rather than bothering with responding to this. He turns his wrists against the friction of the rope, tightens his fingers on the ends like he’s testing their weight. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He can feel Dino laugh, the sound trembling into vibration in his fingertips. When he pulls back it’s faster, the motion promising the requested force; then he thrusts back in, quick and fast, and Hibari has to shut his eyes to hide the flare of heat that turns him liquid and thoughtless for a moment. It’s enough, just the speed and the force, but then Dino shifts his hand and does it again, and there’s a burst of white light against Hibari’s shut eyes, a drag of air in his lungs that comes so hard he can hear it fall into the shape of a moan. Dino purrs something warm and meaningless, as pointless as the taunts he sometimes chooses to waste his breath on in combat, and when he does it again Hibari forgets about the friction at his wrists, and forgets about the featherlight touch at his thigh, and forgets even about the past for a few blissful moments. It’s a strange surrender, to be so undone by Dino’s touch when all his attacks couldn’t achieve it; the irony is amusing, or would be if Hibari had the calm to spare for it. As it is it’s all he can do to keep his eyes shut, to keep his mouth open to mitigate the worst of the involuntary reaction spilling up his throat; when Dino adds another finger to press slick-smooth friction against Hibari it’s more than he even he can manage, until every exhale has the shape of a moan in spite of his attempts to restrain them.

The only relief is that Dino sounds no better. “This is,” he breathes, sounding hot and desperate, sounding anxious with desire in that way he only ever gets when Hibari is leaning over him, when he’s watching Hibari’s fingers move in close approximation to what he’s doing himself, this time. “God, Kyoya, you’re so.”

Hibari takes a breath, holds in into deliberate silence, tips his hips up off the bed. The movement spikes hot into his blood but it’s worth it for the way Dino whines, worth opening his eyes to see the way Dino is looking at him.

“Come on,” Hibari says, and he drags at the rope around his wrists so Dino will look up at the white, so Dino’s mouth will fall open on helpless reaction. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Oh,” Dino whimpers. “Fuck, Kyoya.” His cheeks are flushed, his lips red from the friction of his teeth and the heat of his breathing; Hibari watches that color as Dino rocks back over his heels, slides his fingers free so he can stroke over himself with trembling hands, can draw the burn of anticipation into crimson over his cheekbones. The pattern of his tattoo shifts, flexing as he braces his hand at Hibari’s thigh; it helps to watch that, too, the vivid detail another reminder, another point of grounding that this is now and not then, that the rope against Hibari’s wrists is of his request and not restraint.

Then Dino leans in, casts Hibari into shadow, and Hibari’s breathing catches in a rush of nerves that have nothing to do with rationality at all. There’s just the threat, the span of shoulders over him like a cage, his legs angled too-wide so he can feel the pull along his thighs. He can see shadows, he can breathe in the sakura, and the rope at his wrists is --

Falling slack, he can feel it, it’s giving way against the unconscious jerk of his hands as his fingers fall loose. Hibari blinks, hard, and the mist of the past evaporates, leaves him in the clarity of the present. Because it is Dino over him, dark eyes and bright hair, his smile hesitant and almost shaky.

“Kyoya?” he asks, a plea for permission, a question of concern. Hibari stares at his eyes, and he wonders how much Dino knows, how much he suspects, how much his intuition has filled in the gaps Hibari has never acknowledged.

“Yes,” he says, and arches up to meet him.

Dino doesn’t ask if he’s sure. There are times, rare glimpses of sunlight through clouds, when he acts on instinct, reflexes finally paying him back for all the times he trips over his own feet or tangles himself in his own weapon. This is one of them. He’s moving as Hibari arches, pushing forward in one smooth stroke, and just like that they’re together, Hibari’s body aching heat with the stretch as Dino gasps breathless against his shoulder. Dino’s shoulders are hunched, his body trembling like he can barely hold himself up, but when Hibari takes a breath he moves before the other can frame the order for “ _More_.” There’s another flare of heat, friction and pressure and adrenaline all falling into place, and this time Hibari can hear Dino groan, can hear the tremble of intensity on his exhale.

Hibari turns his head so his mouth brushes at the curl of gold hair, so Dino tips towards him in a vain attempt for a kiss. “Touch me.”

He can taste Dino’s inhale, the startled catch of air past his lips; then there’s a fumble of movement, an elbow settling in over his shoulder as Dino pushes himself up to take his weight on one arm instead of two. His hand is clumsy, feeling his way along Hibari’s waist as he finds a rhythm for his thrusts, as Hibari watches his eyes flutter closed and his mouth go soft and breathless, but then his fingers touch flushed skin, and his hand curls into tension, and when he strokes there’s nothing in the movement but elegance.

It’s the unexpected grace, Hibari thinks later, that so undoes him. There’s a slide of a thumb, the movement as practiced as if Dino is following the steps of a well-learned dance, the slick grip of fingers pressing sensation out into Hibari’s veins. Hibari doesn’t mean to arch off the bed, doesn’t mean to jerk at the rope at his wrists; it’s only the involuntary tension turning his hands into fists that keeps him from dragging himself free of his bonds entirely. Every breath is fire, every movement of Dino’s fingers or hips drags adrenaline tauter in Hibari’s blood, and it’s different, it’s  _so_  different, to have the breathless rush of air in his lungs be driven by someone else’s movements instead of his own. It feels like danger, it feels like falling, until when his back curves and his shoulders tense Hibari doesn’t have control over the motion, can’t think far enough into the future to stop the “ _Dino_ ” that pours from his throat in a wail of heat to match the shudder of pleasure that unwinds through him. He sounds desperate, he sounds undone, but he can’t remember to care, can’t do anything but gasp and breathe in the sound of Dino groaning appreciation against the line of his jaw. There’s movement, friction and heat and skin sticking on skin, and then Dino whimpers “ _Kyoya_ ,” a helpless note of submission, and shivers into stillness against him.

Hibari can feel the texture of the rope printed against his palms when he lets his hold go. The restraints unwind from his wrists as he twists himself free, fall to the floor while he brings his arms down, rolls his shoulders out of their tight-knotted tension. Dino is still leaning over him, still breathing hard at his skin like he’s been running, like he can’t find his air; when Hibari looks down all he can see is gold hair, tangled into curls that catch at the sweat on his skin.

“Dino,” he says, tastes the calm on his tongue, the purr of composure back in place in his throat.

Dino looks up. His eyes are soft, his mouth parted on the gasp of his breathing. Something drags in Hibari’s throat, swells tight against the inside of his chest like he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t smile, doesn’t blink. He just reaches out, fits his rope-marked palm against the back of Dino’s head, and pulls him down to fit his mouth to the breathless heat of the other’s breathing.

Dino’s hair is soft against his fingers.


End file.
